This Year's Black
by Princess Sammi
Summary: *Two-shot* 2017 Reboot: Six-year-old Hecate Hardbroom absolutely hates the colour pink. Ch2: Six-year-old Pippa Pentangle absolutely hates the colour black.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch**

 **A/N: I am still working on editing my other one-shot but this little fic came to me on the bus yesterday morning. I might do a follow-up companion piece but I shall see.**

* * *

 **This Year's Black**

 **Chapter One**

Six-year-old Hecate Hardbroom absolutely hates the colour pink.

She hates everything about it: from the way she looks when her mother dresses her in it, to the disgusting way that the "p" sounds pops on the tongue.

It's the only colour that always stays in the box of pencils when she colours in. An expert hand guiding the other colours carefully within the picture, always careful never to stray outside of the lines.

Her favourite colour is black.

Granny Hardbroom tells her that black is _'sophisticated_ ' and _'much more becoming of a lady'_. Hecate nods at her words, though she doesn't really understand yet what they mean. She just knows that black looks more "witch-like".

The young Hardbroom lives and breaths the craft.

She can spend hours, alone in her room, pouring over spell books and magical theory, voraciously devouring every word within them as she comes to terms with the power that she has and the responsibility that comes attached.

Black is the true cloth of calling for a witch.

Whereas pink, that just feels like little girls playing dollies and dress up — two out of many games that the other neighbourhood girls have excluded her from on account of her not being pretty enough. Or because her name begins with an "H," or for some other petty reason that little girls use to masquerade their innocence behind a malicious intent.

She tells herself that she doesn't care.

She tells herself this all the while knowing that she doesn't believe it.

They aren't the only ones who can play pretend.

* * *

Seventeen-year-old Hecate Harbroom absolutely hates the colour pink.

She stands, slightly aside from the other girls on her first day of College, unable to take her eyes off a girl who embodies everything about the very colour she detests.

One look at this girl, in all her pink and perfect, and she's instantly transported back to the past and to those girls who made her feel like she was never good enough. She internally sighs, resolving to put all of that behind her and start anew. The old feeling of inferiority is quickly reinforced though as the mysterious blonde suddenly catches her eye before she turns away and whispers something to the girl next to her.

Hecate scowls, swearing there and then to have as little to do with this barbie as is physically possible.

Luck is not on her side though as they are instantly assigned to be roommates. It's horrible, it's awkward, and it's ... the beginnings of an unexpected yet deeply treasured friendship.

She stills hates the colour pink, but she likes Pippa Pentangle.

Until she hates her again.

Maybe even more than the colour pink.

* * *

They make up years later, thanks to some kind-hearted intervention from her very worst pupil, and for that Hecate is grateful. She's reluctant to admit it, but she's missed Pippa.

She's even sort of missed the pink.

* * *

Some months later as she takes in the pink lingerie hastily discarded across the floor, the perfectly pink manicured hand currently clasping her own, and the way the pink bedsheets tangle around her girlfriend's naked body, thirty-nine-year-old Hecate Hardbroom muses that she just might have a new favourite colour.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch.**

 **A/N: I** **thought I would try and show a slightly different take on the Pentangle so hopefully this works as I found it much harder to write than Hecate's chapter.**

* * *

 **This Year's Black**

 **Chapter Two**

Six-year-old Pippa Pentangle absolutely hates the colour black.

She thinks that it's dull and boring, and no matter what her older sister's magazines may say, she doesn't find it to be particularly "slimming" either ... whatever that is supposed to mean?

She supposes that she'll find out when she's older.

The only thing worse than the yucky colour itself is having to _actually_ wear it!

Ever the budding fashionista, she tries to sneak in little swatches of colour (pink is her absolute favourite), but she's not the only one with an eye for detail. She scowls as her mother removes them, boldly telling her that when she's a 'big girl' she's never going to wear black again!

Mother Pentangle merely rolls her eyes in response to the proclamation. She gently puts her hands on her youngest daughter's shoulders and looks her straight in the eye as she tells her the exact same thing as always, hoping that one day soon the words might _actually_ start to sink in.

 _"Traditional witching families should always wear black, and we are a traditional witching family."_

Sometimes young Pippa wishes that she wasn't a witch.

Other times she just wishes that she wasn't a Pentangle.

* * *

Seventeen-year-old Pippa Pentangle absolutely hates the colour black.

She's thankful that now she's grown up and left home for College she doesn't need to wear it anymore. The first thing she does when her auntie gives her money for books is to go out and replace her entire wardrobe with a sea of pink.

Pippa 2.0 - that's who she is now.

She's a lot older, a lot pinker, and more determined than ever that _this_ time around things will be different. Those girls in their pretty, pink frocks who frequently sidelined her due to her plain, black dresses are now a thing of the past.

A bright smile graces her heavily glossed lips as she scans the room, subtly checking out those she'll spend the next few years with.

Standing just to the side of the main group is a tall, thin girl with long dark hair. She's dressed entirely in black, and her eyes hold an expression that the Pentangle recognises all too well.

Dark brown eyes suddenly meet with her own and Pippa can feel the blush rising rapidly underneath her rouge. She quickly looks away, asking the girl next to her some random question to try and cover up the fact she was caught staring.

When she next looks up, the mysterious raven-haired girl is throwing daggers in her direction.

* * *

It's sometimes like trying to get blood from a stone, but Pippa slowly learns more and more about her new best friend.

To look at them, you would never think that the pretty, popular blonde and the plain, studious brunette have anything in common, but they are far more alike than anyone realises.

In Hecate Hardbroom, she's found her kindred spirit. Her sister by heart. And she just knows that they'll be friends for a long time to come.

For about two years, they are practically inseparable. They share their secrets, their hopes, and their dreams. She tells of her desire to one day open her own school and Hecate is the first person not to just laugh in her face at the very idea.

When her best friend suddenly just stops talking to her, slicing off contact with such immediacy, Pippa feels like her heart is physically breaking in two. She doesn't understand why it hurts so much - until it finally hits her like a ton of bricks.

The next time she paints her nails, she finds herself discarding her usual pink polish in favour of the bottle of black that the Hardbroom has left behind.

For a minute, she pretends that Hecate is the one holding her hand.

* * *

She clutches the single black rose in her hand, barely able to keep her emotions in check as she tightens her manicured nails around it. She can't believe that after everything that has happened over the years they are at this point.

But they are.

With a deep breath, she sheds the petals of the last rose, lighting the candles with a gentle wave of her hand.

A final glance around the bedroom tells forty-year-old Pippa Pentangle that the scene is set to ask her girlfriend to marry her.


End file.
